


Reign

by amourlouis (hxrrylxrrylxuis)



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Royalty, Bottom Harry, Established Relationship, F/M, Fighting, French Characters, Harry is kinda like Louis's mistress, Homophobia, Homophobic Language, Implied/Referenced Cheating, M/M, Nothing happens but I'm still tagging it, Prince Louis, Religious Conflict, Royalty, Secret Relationship, Sophia is probably going to be mentioned a few times, Sophiam, That may change, That's All I Can Think Of, They get caught basically, Threats of Rape/Non-Con, Threats of Violence, Top Louis, War, What else is new?, affair, but it's not really cheating is it? i have no idea, everyone is pretty religious, i think, larry is real, probably some - Freeform, um
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2015-08-26
Updated: 2015-10-03
Packaged: 2018-04-17 10:09:26
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings, Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 13,551
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4662693
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hxrrylxrrylxuis/pseuds/amourlouis
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Louis may be royalty, but Harry will always be his prince.<br/>[Prince Louis of England and Princess Eleanor of Aquitaine are arranged to be married in order to unify their two countries in a time of tension throughout Europe. Eleanor is young and comes from a wealthy French family. Louis's parents are ready to step down from the throne, his sisters have suitors lining up, and Britain is stronger than ever. Everything is falling exactly into place.<br/>Except for the fact that Louis is in actually in love with Harry, of course, and has been for years.<br/>Being in love with Harry has its advantages, he supposes, but convenience is not one of them. Countless nights spent sneaking around and hands clasped together under blankets add up faster than Louis can even keep track of them, and with his wedding drawing close with each passing day, Harry wants to take action.<br/>All in all, certain affairs can only be kept secret for so long.]</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. 1.

**Author's Note:**

> you can find this on wattpad too right [here](https://www.wattpad.com/story/47071700-reign-stylinson-au)
> 
> happy reading ((:

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> hiii. this is my first royalty au ever ever and after reading them for months i decided to write one of my own. this story is also posted on wattpad under the same title. also, i _am_ the same person posting it on both sites!! some people were worried that i was getting plagiarized (thank you for taking notice sweeties) but i promise i am amourlouis on wattpad AND on ao3.

"It's a bit tight around the waist," Louis shifts, feeling as stiff as a board, and struggles to inhale a full breath. "Definitely tight."

The tailor apologizes profusely, and the fabric is instantly loosened. He slumps, grateful for the relief, and rubs a hand against his rib-cage.

"My sincerest apologies, sir," he mutters, and Louis waves the words off with a flick of the wrist. With an extended hand, the tailor offers him support as he steps down from his elevated and almost worryingly wobbly stool. Louis's feet are bare, as always, and the floor feels cold against his skin. He curls his toes frowns to himself. "You're going to look breathtaking, Your Highness. Just you wait."

"I can hardly do so," he huffs, and he almost feels bad for directing his frustration toward the man. Almost. "My father is expected to arrive back any day now with... her in tow."

The tailor's face is lit up with a practiced smile. "You must be so thrilled!"

"Quite the opposite," Louis mutters, stripping himself of the itchy suit fabric and tugging his night clothes on instead. Normally, this would not be allowed - under his father's rules, of course - but he's gone, so Louis relishes in the freedom to do whatever he pleases.  _Ah._

The tailor looks to him with pursed lips, trepidation and suspicion clear in his eye as he sorts his sewing needles and threads in a large, wooden box. He clears his throat, adverting his eyes when he notices Louis's lack of decency. "I've heard that the Princess of Aquitaine is quite lovely."

"Yes, well, we shall see for ourselves." He knows he ought to change the subject.

"The heir will certainly be blessed with good looks between the two of you," the tailor continues, and Louis is already uncomfortable. He doesn't want to think of his wedding or the princess or any children. Not now. Not ever would be preferable, actually.

"Flattering. I'll be seeing you tomorrow at quarter past one upon your request. I bring thanks for all of your service... on behalf of the King and Queen themselves. Good day," Louis rushes, words flying from his mouth before his own brain fully processes them, and he bounds for the door. He gives the tailor a polite wave with one hand, pulling his cap over his messy hair with the other and exiting the room with an impressive amount of haste. Guards outside of the door part to allow him through, and he breezes past them without so much as a second glance. He hears a "I bid you adieu, Your Highness!" from behind him. He supposes he's supposed to be impressed or endeared, but he finds himself grumbling even more.

Walking through the hallways of the castle has always been one of Louis's least favorite things to do. Men dressed in armor and black line the walls and decorate door frames, especially around this area, and dozens of nameless servants bustle around him, each preoccupied with their own tasks. His own attire seems rather drab compared to that of those who surround him, which amuses him greatly, and he's almost surprised that no one has properly noticed him yet. Slipping his cap from his head (to appear more at ease), he runs a hand through his hair. He's in need of a good cleansing, he thinks, because his hair is beginning to feel greasy and he presumes his skin smells of drying sweat. Hours of recreation have tired him thoroughly and he's exhausted, something he's grateful for (because sleep has been a luxury lately, mostly due to the impending stress the wedding is sure to bring). He only hopes he's able to avoid his mother's watchful eye for the remainder of the day, because Harry is due in his bed chambers any moment.

Harry.

The thought of Harry makes a stupid, much too bright smile perk up on Louis's face.Harry and his curls and laugh and beautiful, deep green eyes; a small part of Louis squeals like a child with excitement. He's seen Harry nearly every day for a large portion of his life. Lately he's been caught up in his duties, especially with a wedding around the corner, but they still make time for each other a priority. Harry usually spends his days loitering about the courtyards as it is. It helps that Harry lives in the castle as well, just down a flight of stairs and through a few corridors, because Louis's had to sneak around in the dead of night (really his only free time some days) just to say hello. Today, however, they've arranged to go riding out to Louis's mother's orchards. Harry likes to walk through and visit the gardeners, for some reason, and Louis is more than willing to humor him. Louis walks a little faster and tilts his head up a little higher - he's the bloody Prince, for heaven's sake - as he passes one of his father's advisers. The man gives him a polite, curt nod, followed by a very well rehearsed, "Prince Louis." Louis smiles in response but says nothing, because he hates the people associated with his father and what they stand for.

Britain's declaration of religious independence from Rome has spurred a change throughout the entire country inside the palace and out. Without the rulings or say of the Pope, the British monarchy has been able to do as it pleases without fear of confrontation. Louis's father, King Troy, has been freed from the restraints previously held up by the Catholic church. Rebellions brew in the south, those unsatisfied with the king speaking out and joining together, and relations with other countries across Europe have been tense. As a result, the country's trade and goods are at risk, and every day that passes seems to bring them closer to the inevitable: war. He shudders.

Which, unfortunately, brings his mind back to the wedding. Louis rolls his eyes at a painting on the wall to keep from expressing his distaste out loud. He's engaged to Princess Eleanor, who is from a part of France, and is very much opposed to it. His parents cast it aside as typical Louis behavior, which seems to have earned itself a title, and countless tries at changing their mind have been proven useless. He's going to be married, and that's that.

He remembers finding out a few months ago, on his twenty-third birthday, when a customary - and very necessary, yes, Louis - ball had been thrown in his honor. It was then that he learned of his betrothal - at the very same time the public did, no less - in order to strengthen the bond between France and Britain. Which sounds grand on paper, Louis thinks, but he's young and has no interest in marrying a woman he's never met before. He's been told a great deal about her over the course of the year, but each day that passes only presents a new amount of dread toward the entire situation. Frankly, he feels as if he can't be blamed. He flicks some fringe from his face, rounding a corner.

"The King and Queen themselves have arranged for me to marry Princess Eleanor of Aquitaine." The words felt (and still do feel) foreign on his tongue. Princess Eleanor. He's to marry a princess. This should not be news to Louis, of course, because he's lived his entire life being prepared for this. Even as a small boy, he'd known that one day he'd be married to a girl in a position of power and he'd be in charge, ruling over his country and carrying on his father's legacy. Or something like that.

But now that he's grown and things all make much more sense, he's genuinely terrified. He can't rule an entire country, and he certainly can't marry a girl, much less Princess Eleanor of Aquitaine. He's visited Aquitaine before, to Eleanor's family (Eleanor herself had not been present at the time) and he thinks it'd be a lot more lovely if the reason he was there was any different.

He's arrived at his quarters, now, and he walks straight in and immediately begins talking. "I can't believe this is actually happening."

Sure enough, Harry is perched on the edge of Louis's bed. He looks extra lovely today, hair resting around his face and curling at the edges, and he's dressed in a crisp white top and black trousers that are almost too tight for someone of his social standing. Brown riding boots cover his feet and his sword pokes out next to his leg, still fully sheathed. He looks powerful and young, and Louis sits down next to him before he has time to respond. He's drawn to him almost inevitably, like a magnet, and he rests his hand on top of Harry's, which is balled into a fist as he grips the fabric of Louis's duvet.

"Neither can I," says Harry, opting to look into Louis's eyes despite his obvious restlessness, "I don't want to think about that right now, though. We only have days left. We have to cherish them."

"You're right. You're always right," he sighs, feeling the tension roll off his shoulders at Harry's very touch. Pathetic. Pathetic, stupid, and absolutely smitten.

He can't marry a French princess because he's already in love with a certain curly-haired devil.

"Shall we head out, then? The sky is darkening. We should move quickly." Harry's words sound like jibberish to Louis because he's so busy staring at his face. This is not new. Louis is terrible at listening, which Harry knows, and usually responds with whatever he's thinking regardless of the circumstances, which Harry also knows.

"Maybe we should just... stay here. We mustn't get caught in a storm on a day like today. Mother would have me hanged."

"The feast isn't until tonight, Louis," Harry insists, taking Louis's hand in both of his and raising it to his mouth, slowly and dramatically, only to place a kiss to Louis's knuckles. "Come with me. Live a little."

Louis bites his lip, "You do present a tempting offer... but I can't, I'm afraid. Preparations for Father's return are everyone's priority. There will be no one around to assist me if we end up getting drenched or muddy. I'd have to bathe and-"

Harry leans in, lips brushing against Louis's ear. "I could help you do that."

"No," Louis says, and Harry moves closer anyway. "Harold."

"'s not my name."

"Harry." He pushes at his chest, but the action is feeble and he knows that Harry is going to convince him to stay. Or try a very respectable amount, at the very least. "Come on, now. You know how it is."

Harry slouches, nose pressed to Louis's shoulder - which can't be comfortable in the slightest - and sighs, long and exaggerated, "I know."

They sit in silence, fingers slipping apart, and Harry shuffles to the other end of the bed. Louis's head lolls to the side and he pretends to be stretching his neck, but he doesn't want Harry to look him in the eye. That'll be the end of it, surely, and he has to be the responsible one. He is, after all, the literal prince. Harry clears his throat and stands, hands resting on his belt as he strolls over to the window and stands in front of it. And, if Louis's being honest, he hates times like these. He hates having to turn Harry down every single time, and he especially hates the amount of tension in the air between them afterwards.

"I can't... you know I can not do that. And not just because it's you, the circumstances would be the same with everyone. I have to keep my virtue intact. If anyone found out, I would be killed."

"That's rubbish, and you know it." He also hates how cold Harry becomes almost instantaneously, like Louis's flipped a switch inside of him. "You're the prince. I'm sure the same rules don't apply to people of your social standing. Not a soul would speak out against you to begin with - they wouldn't lay a single finger on you."

"Maybe not," Louis admits, staring at his feet, "But my parents... you know how they are. There is a lot riding on this marriage. I may be safe, but you... you aren't."

Harry doesn't move or flinch or even blink; actually, he squints a little harder and takes a deep breath before he turns to face Louis. "I could not care less about that. I have loved you since... well, since I even knew what love is. And I want you in every way, Louis, physically and mentally. I want to-" Harry cuts off, balling his hands into fists. He waves them around for a minute as if he isn't sure what to do with them and ends up pressing one to his forehead, thumb on the skin between his eyebrows, "I want to kiss you whenever I feel like it. And make you mine, physically as well as... the way you already are."

"I want that too-"

"But we can never have that, can we?" Harry asks, even laughs a little, and turns back to the window. "We can never have that. I can never have you."

He doesn't know what to say. They've had this conversation at least a million times and it always, always goes the same way. As much as he hates to do it, he has to say no. His virtue has to remain in tact and he can't risk it. Not for his own sake, and especially not for Harry's. He knows that a part of Harry understands. Or, he hopes. "I'm sorry, Harry."

Harry is silent for a few more moments. "No, I'm sorry. I'm sorry for bringing it up... this may be our last day together for a while. Let's just go. No one has to know where we were, and I will make sure we're back if the weather turns for the worst. Carry you if I have to."

"I'm afraid it's not worth the risk. Not today," Louis mumbles, staring at his lap. He feels horrible for turning Harry down when, like he said, it may be their last day together for some time. "It is the way it is."

Harry turns to him, fingers resting on the edge of his sword - which Louis never understands, because Harry never even uses his sword and Louis's convinced he just carries it around to make himself seem more daunting, or something - and forces a smile. "I understand, Your Highness."

Louis rolls his eyes, "I've told you countless times not to call me that. I'm Louis, not some high and mighty-"

"You'll be the king one day," Harry reminds him, and Louis would very much like to slap him - the only thing holding him back is the undeniable amount of fondness he feels. Probably. He appreciates how blunt Harry is sometimes, but he's trying very hard not to think about real life right now. He'd prefer to stay in his bubble of Harry-ness and bed sheets forever.

"I know. It is all such a joke, truly," he moans, flopping back onto the pillows and sprawling out obnoxiously. Harry comes to sit on the foot of the bed, neat and proper, and Louis kicks his foot out. It hits Harry in the stomach. "Budge up."

Harry sighs like Louis's ridiculous, which he kind of is, and scoots up so that he's lying next to him. Louis's arm snakes around Harry's broad shoulders as best it can, and they sit like that for a moment. It's not awkward or uncomfortable in the slightest, and Harry's warm breath hitting the side of his neck actually is soothing. Louis's eyes slide shut before he even realizes it and he's just about to doze off when Harry shuffles and knees him in the side accidentally. "Sorry."

"'s alright," Louis laughs, breathless and airy, and settles back in. He fully intends on napping with Harry at his side, but Harry seems to be having none of that.

"Louis."Louis groans in response, free arm coming up to rest across his eyes. He feels Harry's hands resting on his stomach. "Lou."

"What?" he whines, "I just want to nap, just for a little."

Harry pauses for a moment, "I have an idea. Let's run away together."

Louis laughs so hard that it almost hurts, and he's tearing up and wiping at his eyes for when he looks over at Harry, who's staring at him very seriously. "Wait, you're serious?"

"Deadly."

"Harry, I can't just run away," Louis scoffs, sitting up. Harry mimics his actions, and he's so much taller than Louis that it's almost unfair. His entire demeanor is powerful and strong, which is something Louis envies, and he does not back down or slump when Louis pushes at his chest. "Why would you say such a thing?"

"I mean it. We could just leave and go be on our own. You and me and no one else. Could go live in the middle of the countryside or something, I doubt anyone there would recognize you... and we could just have a life together. No one would ever find out. Think of the possibilities-"

"Do you think my parents would just allow me to skip out the front doorway and never come back?"

"Well, no." Harry furrows his brow. "That's the point of running away. We do it without anyone's consent. We could go during the middle of the night when everyone is asleep and be well hidden come daybreak, they'd never find us if we're careful enough-"

"I'm the prince, you know. I always will be. I can't just go frolicking through town-"

"I am not saying that!" Harry's tone sharpens and Louis slumps away. "No, I- I apologize for raising my voice. I am not saying that. I'm saying that we go and we hide until it blows over and then we make a life together. We could make it work. You could be mine and I could be yours and," he cuts off, panting a bit from his enthusiasm as he takes Louis's face in his hands with a crushing amount of excitement, "I love you."

"I love you more than anything," Louis answers immediately, "but... we can't. We can not just run away. I'm sorry."

"You're always sorry." Louis can't even find it in himself to be cross, because Harry looks hurt and he never wants to be the cause of that. So he takes Harry's own face in his hands as well. "I am sorry, you know. I wish I could change the way things are but I can't, and... when I'm king, I will find a way. I'll find a way to make things okay."

Harry huffs out a laugh. "What will you do? Make me your mistress?"

"Maybe," Louis teases, but it holds an underlying amount of truth. He could do that, he thinks, maybe. Harry obviously can't give him children but that doesn't matter, because any children produced between anyone other than Louis and his wife won't be considered an heir to the throne anyway. He's never entertained the idea of Harry as his mistress - mostly because Harry is undeniably male, and that's pretty much the only thing holding him back from doing it now - but without the church to stop him, he could do it. As king, that is.

But he might not be king for years.

Harry sighs and releases Louis reluctantly, hand coming up to scrub at his own face. It's times like these that Louis truly sees Harry for who he is. No longer is he a small boy who follows Louis around castle corridors, hanging off of his every word, beck and whim - he's become his own person, his own man. Louis loves him so intensely that it's almost frightening, sometimes, but at the same time he's ever felt so alive.

He remembers when their friendship turned into something more and when their something more turned into love. He never expected it or thought of it until he was sixteen and Harry's lips were on his own for the first time - but it feels right. And it always has. But no amount of love or pride for Harry can ever change the fact that he has a duty as the prince - even though he has no say in the matter - and he has to do what's right for his country. Even if it keeps him awake at night. Which is why, regrettably, he chooses to stay.

"We could go to the kitchen and steal some of the sweets," Louis suggests, because being mischievous together always cheers Harry up. "They're making loads for this evening."

Harry shakes his head. "No, we shouldn't. That's a bit cruel. We could get them in trouble if they're not properly prepared when your father... arrives," he tuts, biting his lip. He seems to be thinking about something, so Louis waits patiently with his hands folded in his lap. "We could go... to the spot."

"You want to go up there?" Louis cocks an eyebrow. "During daylight? What if someone catches us?"

"I've said it once, but I will say it again; learn to  _live_  a little."

_______

Louis isn't one hundred percent sure how he ends up letting Harry drag him out onto their special spot, but he does. They hurry through and sneak into what will become Eleanor's quarters when she arrives and out onto the balcony, which happens to be the highest of them all, and sit on the edge. The railings have broken and need to be repaired soon, so Harry and Louis often find themselves with their legs dangling over the side as they sit and watch the trees blow in the distance. It's quiet and probably quite dangerous, as they're strictly forbidden from ever entering this part of the castle (making it impossible for anyone to know where they are), and Louis generally keeps their visits to this area limited to the night time. But soon they won't be able to come anymore, so he allows it. Even though he very much knows that he'll go along with whatever Harry wishes.

"It's so lovely, isn't it?" Harry sighs dreamily, pushing some hair from his face, "I could spend all day out here."

"Maybe," Louis agrees, humming to himself as he leans backwards and rests his palms flat on the surface of the balcony. His right hand sits atop Harry's and he's probably crushing it, but Harry doesn't seem to mind. He's sitting upright, the epitome of perfect posture, and staring off into the distance like it's everything he's ever wanted (which it very well may be). "Sometimes I wonder why I'm the prince." Harry cocks an eyebrow at him without looking away. "Because you seem so much better suited for it than I."

"Nonsense," says Harry with a smile, shaking his head. "You're my favorite prince, actually."

"Really?" Harry nods. "Thank you, Curly. I'm flattered. You always have been quite the charmer."

They banter for a while, enjoying each other's presence without taking it too seriously. It's nice, because Louis is used to always being on his Very Best Behavior and speaking like he's got a stone shoved up his arse. The façade that he puts on for the sake of his reputation as Prince Louis tires him, and he knows it'll be worse when he's actually in a position of power. For now, his title is mostly for show. He lets his parents take care of most of the scary, authoritative decision making. His father rules with an iron fist and Louis's not sure he'll be able to carry on that trend, but for now he's here with Harry and that's the only thing he should be thinking about.

Especially because they only have but an hour or so before his father returns with his men and Louis's bride, which also means they only have but an hour before everything _supposedly_ goes to shit.


	2. 2.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> special thanks to my girlfriend **karoll** for being my beta reader for this chapter ((and the last, technically)) !!

Harry and Louis have just made it back to Louis's quarters when there's a knock on his door.

"Yes?" Louis calls, removing his hand from Harry's, who scoots several inches away and pretends to be busy with the book sitting on the bedside table. The door slides open and a blonde woman whom Louis has never seen before enters, her head bowed respectfully. She's wearing a very nice gown and her hair is pinned up elegantly, so he can only assume she's not a servant. The way she holds herself says otherwise.

"Your Highness," she says, "Her Majesty the Queen has requested your presence in the main dining hall."

"Can it wait?" Louis doesn't mean to be rude, but he's trying to enjoy what free time he has left with Harry. The woman steps back at his tone, head tipping further toward the ground. He secretly hates when people treat him like this - like the prince - but he dare not speak out against it. Doing so would surely get him in trouble with his parents. He has a reputation to help maintain.

"Preparations for the feast, Your Highness. H-her Majesty insists, sir. I mean, Your Highness." She looks incredibly nervous as she peeks up at Louis and immediately looks away, folding her hands behind her back. No one of her status dares to look a royal in the eye, especially not a royal  _man_. All of Louis's servants and maids address the wall behind him instead of his face. It's supposed to make him feel superior, but it does the opposite.

Louis sighs, long and exaggerated. "Tell her I am on my way. I have one matter of business to attend to first."

"Yes sir," she mutters, turning and rushing out the door. As soon as it closes, Harry turns to him with a perked brow. "Who was that?"

"Not a single idea." Louis shakes his head, running a hand through his fringe. He hates saying goodbye. Especially when he doesn't know how long it will be before they see each other again. Harry seems to get the hint, though, because he stands and holds his arms open as an invitation. He steps into them gratefully, pressing his nose to the dip where Harry's collarbones meet. They hug for a few moments, and when Louis starts to draw back Harry grabs his face in his hands. He kisses him hard, because it's all he can do, and Louis's fingers in his hair do enough to reassure him that he is sorry.

"I love you," Louis promises, slipping away. Harry's hand reaches out and Louis's fingers trail down his arm as he steps back, pinkies locking at the tip. Harry drops his arm and gives Louis a smile that doesn't reach his eyes.

"As do I," he says, bowing, and he walks from the room. Louis watches him go from behind, watches his muscles flex as he straightens up and rolls his shoulders before he opens the door and slides out.

He watches Harry go and feels like he's taking a part of him with him.

It wasn't always this way. He remembers them spending days and nights together, hiding under the bed covers and kissing until they went blue. Everyone has always seen them as the closest of friends and they've never been caught or questioned. But now that Louis is older, he feels as if every day that passes takes his lover away from him piece by piece. Little by little he grows into someone new and without Louis there, he learns to live without him.

And it scares Louis.

He blinks from his thoughts, inhaling deeply, and decides to head down to the dining hall. He doesn't want to get the maiden in trouble for being late.

After another boring walk through hallways he's been through countless times, he patters down the steps and toward the main dining hall. Guards are on their post at each door, and they part to allow him through without hesitation or so much as a single glance.

Louis enters, fully expecting to see his mother and her ladies, but he's unpleasantly surprised.

It is his mother and ladies, of course, but they're not  _her_  ladies. They're all sitting around the table, his mother being at the head, and talking to one another. He doesn't recall knowing any of them. Louis instantly recognizes one of them - the one with the light hair - as the woman who had come to retrieve him from his chambers. They're giggling when he walks in, but at the sound of the door closing they all silence and look to Louis. The silence turns into hushed whispers as Louis nears, clearing his throat. As if on cue, everyone's - except his mother and the woman sitting next to her- head snaps down and their gaze falls to their lap.

"Mother?"

"Hello, Louis." She beams at him, but Louis can see it's fake. He can't remember the last time he saw his mother seem genuinely happy. "I have a surprise for you."

Louis looks around the table, slowly connecting the dots until his eyes land on the other woman.

Her hair is dark, almost as dark as Harry's, and falls down her torso, coming to a stop her bosom. Her facial features are soft, lips full, brows arched - she is beautiful, Louis must admit. Her eyes are a deep brown color and her skin is fair, and when she stands he can see she is slender and moves gracefully.

Just like a princess.

"Your Highness," she says, curtseying. Louis stands there like a blithering idiot, mouth gaping open as he stares her down none too subtly.

His mother clears her throat. "I _unofficially_ present to you Princess Eleanor of Aquitaine - she and your father have arrived earlier than expected. Your father is bathing and dressing at the moment, but I had thought you two might want to meet before this evening. Get a bit more comfortable around one another. I can already tell you will just be wonderful together."

Louis swallows. He knows what he is expected to do, even if he really wants to turn and run away. There is a princess standing in front of him and he's going to have to marry her. It all feels so real, suddenly. With a shaky breath, he extends his arm and takes her hand in his, which she lets go limp, and raises it to his lips. He kisses the back of it gently, trying to maintain eye contact even in his bow, and his free arm goes behind his back. Louis can practically feel the pressure radiating from his mother. He straightens up, tilting his head once more. "My lady."

"Isn't she lovely?" Johannah gushes, clasping her hands together lightly. Eleanor smiles.

"You flatter me, Your Majesty," she says, and her accent is heavy and definitely French. Louis blinks, trying to understand her words. "You are Prince Louis, no?"

"I am," he says, and her smile widens. She  _is_  lovely, at least on the surface. He assumes his father is extremely proud and probably boasting about his son's bride to everyone he comes across. The thought makes him feel even worse about not wanting anything to do with her.

"It is my pleasure to finally meet you in person, monsieur. You did seem very charming in your... letters." It's obvious she's still learning English, as she speaks slowly and pronounces each word with a great deal of caution.

"Letters?" Louis asks, because he doesn't recall writing any letters. His mother clears her throat subtly.  _Oh._  "Yes, of course. The letters. That I wrote. For you."

Eleanor bites her lower lip, hands folded and resting atop her stomach. He can tell she likes him, because she stares at him with a great deal of happiness, and his own eyes flicker from her to his mother and the other women.

"Ah, I beg your pardon, my prince. These are my ladies," Eleanor explains, sweeping a hand out as a gesture. There are four of them in total. Two of them have dark hair like Eleanor's, then there's the blonde one who had retrieved Louis, and the other has striking red curls. " _Amis_ , introduce yourselves."

None of them seem too keen to speak up, especially in Louis's presence, so the redhead clears her throat. "Your Highness," she acknowledges, "My name is Antoinette. These two are Constance and Juliet." The two brunettes stand and courtesy, and Louis's head is still whirling. A few minutes ago he was canoodling with Harry and now he's being introduced to his future bride and her ladies-in-waiting. It's all happening very suddenly and he probably would flee if his mother was not present. But, of course, she is. She's sitting and watching him _very_  intently.

"And this is Naomi," she points to the blonde girl. Antoinette sits, smoothing her skirt down and folding her hands atop the table, smiling widely at Eleanor and Louis. It's rather unusual for Louis to see such confidence in a woman who is not a part of the royal court. Her accent is also heavy and he tries his best to remember how to pronounce their names, but he assumes he won't be seeing much of them anyway. His appearance at his mother's court is rare enough as is - to know that Eleanor will be around will only drive him away even further.

"Lovely," Louis's mother says, "but I am sure that my son would appreciate a few moments of solitude with his bride-to-be." Louis really hates her sometimes.

"Yes, of course," Antoinette chirps, and the ladies all stand and shuffle from the room. His mother follows, but not before Louis bows and Eleanor courtesies once again. Formalities have become like a second nature to him.

Once they're alone (with the exception of the guards at their posts and the few servants preparing the room for the festivities), Louis clears his throat. Eleanor looks to him expectantly.

"I trust your journey was pleasant?" he blurts, because it's the only thing he can think to say.

"Oh,  _oui_. It was most wonderful to see your country. It is very beautiful."

"It is," he hums, opting to stare at his feet. There is no way the situation could be any more awkward. He supposes he should try to compliment her back. "And you are... most beautiful as well."

Eleanor blushes. "Your Majesty, you flatter me."

"The fairest in all the land, I am certain," he lies. Images of Harry float through his mind as Eleanor steps closer, placing a hand on Louis's shoulder hesitantly. "I have seen your portraits but they fall terribly short. I will have my most talented artists paint you again and again until they properly capture the essence of your grace, Princess." He wants to vomit a little, and the words come out in a way that sounds to Louis like mockery. Eleanor doesn't seem to notice, because her hand slides down to his elbow and she smiles.  _Stop touching me._

She leans in, lips inches from Louis's ear; he tries not to flinch away or wrinkle his nose, extending a hand to her waist to steady her instead.  _"Tu es très beau, mon ché_ _ri,"_ she whispers, hot and sultry.  Louis knows enough French to understand what  _that_ means.  _She is not one for subtlety, is she?_

"While I find your words to be, erm, most flattering," Louis breathes, discomfort swelling in his chest. He thinks he very may well have gone mad, because any other man - or woman, for that matter - in the kingdom would be glad to have someone like Eleanor as their betrothed. Maybe he is mad.  _Madly in love with another,_ he huffs to himself,  _and it is not like I can control it._ It's then that he realizes Eleanor has backed up slightly and is waiting for him to continue, smile still present. "It is extremely important to me that you learn to speak English."

Her smile falters. "I have been learning for years."

"Well, as impressive as that may be, you are in Britain now. Not France. I'm afraid you must leave all traces of the leader you used to be behind." Which also means  _I don't want you saying things I don't understand to other people,_ but Eleanor doesn't necessarily need to know that bit. "When we are," he gulps, "when we are married, I fear you will receive criticism if you fall short in any area, my lady." Truly, he's the one who will receive criticism. From his father. As the  _man_ and the prince, he feels massive amounts of pressure to make sure everything Eleanor says and does in the presence of the court is  _perfect._ He doesn't agree and he knows that it isn't right, but what can he do? 

He misses Harry already. 

Eleanor clearing her throat startles him from his wistful thinking. She smoothes her skirt down for what has to be the millionth time - the fabric a deep, mossy green that makes his heart beat just a little bit faster - before she nods. "Of course, my Prince."

"You may call me Louis."

"Louis," she mutters, smiling at the ground. He feels so horrible and uncomfortable and guilty all at once. A part of him is screaming at him to leave and go back to Harry, whom he feels like he is betraying, but he also knows that this is what he has to do. He has to talk to her and get to know her, and maybe some day he'll trust her with his secret. _It would certainly make things a lot easier._

Today, of course, is not that day.

"Well, erm. Must be on my way, then. The festivities will begin shortly. Shall I escort you to your room?" he asks, popping his arm out and resting his fist on his hip bone invitingly. Eleanor laces her arm through his, fingers coming to grasp at Louis's wrist. They're cold and slender, and it doesn't feel right. He's used to a different warmer press in his hand; he's used to rough, calloused skin brushing against his own. 

But, he swallows his regret and walks her to her room like a true gentleman. He only has to keep it up for so long, and then they'll be married and he won't have to court her like a maiden anymore. Married.

When he arrives at his own quarters once again, they're all but empty. This shouldn't surprise Louis, especially because he  _watched_ Harry leave, but he can't help but feel a pang of sadness at the neatly made bed and the absence of a head of curls atop the pillows. 

"Right, then," he addresses the empty room conversationally. Alice, one of his personal maids, is busy filling the tub in the attached room. He can hear her singing softly and the sound of water hitting the tub floor, and he sighs. 

He enters the room and strips without a word. Alice casts her eyes away, and fills his bath with salts and other things Louis supposes have some sort of medicinal purpose. She picks up a bar of soap and sits back, kneeling, and waits. They have a routine. She cleans Louis, Louis stares at a wall, and sometimes Harry sits in the corner and talks about his day.

 It's a lot more awkward without Harry.

Once he's clean and his hair has been dried as much as possible, he's whisked out of the bathing room and into a nice tunic and waistcoat. Artificial pads are tucked beneath his undershirt to make his shoulders look broader -which he hates, and Alice seems reluctant to do, but he's got such a small frame that his father insists (because apparently looking the slightest bit feminine is a huge dishonor)- and he squirms under their weight. 

"I hate dressing up," he whines as Alice tugs stockings up his legs, "I look like a simpleton."

"I think you look dashing, my Prince," says Alice, rummaging around in a trunk for a pair of shoes that Louis hasn't scuffed up. "Where has your cap gone?"

Louis crosses his arms across his chest. "The one I wear every day?"

"No, sir. The one with the feathers and the jewels."

With a long, exaggerated groan, Louis slumps into his mattress. "I am not wearing that stupid thing. It's absolutely ridiculous."

"It is on trend," Alice tries, but Louis won't have it. He scoots away from her once she finds it, rolling off the bed and dashing across the room like petulantly. He stops in the corner furthest from her and pokes his tongue out. "No."

She sighs. "What will your father say?" Alice is probably ten years older than Louis, but he considers her to be one of his friends. A naggy, probably right friend, but. Still just a friend.

"Bullocks to what my father says," he crows, slipping into his boots - the leather squeezes at his feet rather uncomfortably - with a grin. "I'll come up with an excuse."

Alice looks panicked. "Don't worry," he tacks on, "I'll be sure he knows you are not at fault." 

Once he's dressed, Alice sprays him with something that smells musky, and he's given a pat to the back. She busies herself with cleaning up after Louis as he sits at his desk, scribbling some letters on a piece of parchment. "Do be careful," Alice says. He tends to spill ink on his tunic a lot. 

"You should join us tonight, Alice," he hums. Alice chuckles, folding something across the room, and shakes her head. 

"That is not possible."

Louis drops his quill and turns to face her. She's got her back to him, so he isn't able to read her face, but he can tell by her demeanor that she isn't happy. He takes a moment to really look at her. She's aged since Louis first met her when he was twelve - her dark hair is greying in some places and she's lost a great deal of weight. He's seen through countless attempts at getting her to eat more, but after her husband's premature passing a few years ago, she hasn't been the same. And he feels bad that she spends her entire life waiting on and picking up after him, but he knows her life quality is probably a lot better inside the castle than it would be anywhere else. That fact alone frustrates him. He wants to change the way things are, but he's virtually powerless until he's coronated. His parents seem very adamant about securing the Tomlinson lineage before they step down, but his father seems especially reluctant when it comes to passing on responsibilities to Louis. 

She's aged and so has he, but she can never truly become close to him because he is a royal and she isn't. That's just the way it is. That's the way it always is.

It's why he can't be with Harry and why he can't leave the castle unless it's under specific circumstances; it's why he can't take strolls without being guarded or befriend the women who tend the gardens. He's Prince of Britain, and that should be a huge honor, but it feels like a burden. He's not anyone extravagant underneath of his excessive titles, truly.

"I know," he concludes, head downcast. "I'm sorry."

Before they can continue their conversation, there's a sharp rap on his bedroom door. He groans. 

"It's time," he sighs.

_______

Louis really hates gatherings like this.

Dozens of men and women crowd the ballroom area, dressed to the nines, and music plays softly beneath all of their chatter. There are various candles lit all around the room, illuminating the space with a soft, yellow light. His parents are sat in their thrones at the head of the room, past the dance floor and the orchestra, silent and straight. They look like statues instead of people, and Louis subconsciously adjusts his own posture as a result. 

Several people around him bow upon his entrance. He eyes them wordlessly, supposes he should probably smile - he's not in the mood. He walks through the room with as much confidence and prestige as he can muster and takes his place on his father's left. 

"Where is your cap?" his father hisses, and Louis's gaze flicks up to look at his father's own hat. It's obnoxiously large and practically identical to what every other male in the entire room seems to be wearing.

"I did not want to wear it," Louis says with a light shrug, snapping his eyes forward once again. 

"Why not?" Johannah asks. The king hushes her promptly, and her lips immediately purse. "Let me do the talking, woman."

Louis exhales through gritted teeth, "You really should not speak to her like that."

"You dare tell me what to do, boy?" he spits, "I think not. You are a child. A fool. How can you be a king if you can not even live up to my simplest expectations?"

"I do not  _live_  to impress  _you_."

His father huffs, and Louis is fully expecting another nasty retaliation, but he doesn't get to it. Trumpets blare across the room, and everyone - including the king - falls silent. 

The French ambassador stands at the main doors to the ballroom, between the two burly trumpet players, with his hands clasped together. Louis's heart drops into his stomach. The music stops after a few very short moments. 

"Ladies and gentlemen of the court," he says, voice shrill and cruel, "I humbly present to you: Her Royal Highness Princess Eleanor of Aquitaine, France."

The doors open at his word and he steps out of the way, bowing politely. The crowd whispers excitedly as the heavy wood swings open to reveal Eleanor. 

She looks very different already. It's only been a few hours, but she's been dressed in a completely different outfit. Her gown is the color of wine, skirt embroidered elegantly in gold at the bottom. The sleeves rest about halfway down her arms, fabric around her wrists trailing down to her waist, but her hair covers her bare shoulders. It is curled and half of it is pinned up (sophisticatedly) and a jewelled tiara sits atop her head. Her hands are clasped and her posture is so beautiful that Louis is almost envious as she walks in, trailed by her ladies, and the fabric of her dress follows behind her. 

He's going to die, honestly, because Eleanor is perfect and he can tell the entire kingdom is already in love with her.

"Oh, she looks absolutely  _lovely,_ " his mum gasps, and Eleanor stops about two steps in. It takes Louis a beat to realize that he's supposed to go down there.

He stands hastily, making his way down the carpet to where Eleanor is waiting. He stops in front of her, and, feeling about a million eyes on him, bows. The whispers turn into gasps as he kisses her hand, and she does her best to curtesy under what he assumes to be multiple layers of fabric. 

"You clean up nicely," she teases quietly, and Louis forces a smile in response. His own hair is slicked down at the edges and styled into a quiff. He's wearing his own crown as well - because hats are ridiculous, of course - so he supposes they make a very handsome couple at the moment. The orchestra resumes in their playing and guests are being escorted into the main dining hall. 

"Thank you," he says, "and you look gorgeous." Eleanor's ladies giggle amongst themselves. His smile becomes the slightest bit more genuine at Eleanor's eye roll.

"I must admit that first impressions make me rather anxious," she admits. "I do not want the entirety of Britain to resent me, you see."

Louis cocks his brow. "You have nothing to fear. My people are very kind and accepting." This is a lie. Most of the country has a hostile outlook on the royal family at this point; rebellions are at an all time high. His parents and their court have been under extra security at all times, and every one of them has multiple taste testers for every meal. They are taking no chances.

They walk into the dining hall together and sit next to Louis's father. Dozens of important people that Louis can't remember ask them all sorts of questions and express their excitement for the wedding, which takes place in a few months. 

Louis sees hears him before he sees him.

Harry's laugh is more of a cackle and resonates with everyone around him. He's sitting down toward the other end of the long table, next to his father - whom Louis's father holds very high up in his ranks - with a smile. He's not looking at Louis, so Louis takes the opportunity to stare at him.

Until his father kicks him under the table and glares at him, of course.

"Pardon?" Louis wheezes, trying not to choke on a piece of bread. Eleanor smiles like this is the most endearing thing he's ever done. He wants to roll his eyes.

"Children?" his father prompts. Several pairs of eyes await his response eagerly, forks raised halfway to their mouths. 

Louis pales. "Um, maybe just one," he says at the same time Eleanor exclaims, "As many as possible!"

The men around him all chuckle loudly, and he blushes down to his toes. His father looks less than pleased, but Eleanor is grinning widely. He's not ready to think about children yet. But, he supposes that's the entire reason he's being forced into this marriage. He has to excuse himself before he vomits.

He's standing out in the corridor, which is empty, and takes a few breaths. The doors swing open, so he turns away, fully expecting his father to yell and scold him for not handling the situation properly. 

Instead he gets a hand on his shoulder. 

"Harry," he sniffs. Harry doesn't speak, but he uses his hand to turn Louis so that they're face to face. They wouldn't dare do anything more intimate than this in the middle of a corridor on normal days, but Louis is going to be married and the day has been horrible ever since Harry left the room. So he kisses Harry square on the mouth and doesn't regret it, thank you very much.

"You left," Harry says simply, blinking at Louis's advance. 

"I just needed some air, I think."

Harry shakes his head. "Your forehead was all scrunched up. I thought I should see if you were okay."

"That's sweet of you." Louis bites his lip, playing with Harry's long fingers idly. "I don't like her, Harry."

"I know."

"I don't want to marry her."

"I know."

Louis sniffs again. "But I have to."

Defeated, Harry slumps away. "I know."


	3. 3.

  "The wedding will be held in three months," says Jay, examining herself in a mirror. Louis is still fully clothed and muddy from a day out at the stables (per his mother's request, of course) but despite his mother's summoning, he's still due to take a walk with Eleanor in a few minutes, which is something he himself had not exactly agreed to, but. Anything to keep suspicion to a minimum. "To the day." 

"Why three entire months?" Louis asks, even though he's secretly extremely grateful for any amount of time he gets to procrastinate the entire affair. 

"Well, your father is quite the busy man."

"As if," Louis snorts, but quickly catches himself, "I mean, as if I did not already know that."

His mother looks wistfully at her reflection for a moment, hand coming to rest below her bosum. "Sometimes I wish it was not that way. I do miss his presence."

Louis can't imagine why, because every time he is around the two of them together he always wonders if his mother is even happy at all. "Why? You never have in the past."

She bites her lip, almost as if she's not sure if she should tell Louis something. He shifts his weight from heel to toe. "What is it, Mother?"

"I am with child," she mumbles. Louis's heart practically falls into his stomach.

"You are  _what_?"

She looks to him pleadingly through the glass, and it's at this very moment that Louis realizes that, even as his mother, she is forced to submit to his authority. Something about that doesn't sit well with him. "Please, my love, I do not mean to steal the attention of the townsfolk from you-"

"I am not worried about that," he stresses, shaking his head. "When will you realize, Mother, that you are the only one who cares about the  _'attention of the townsfolk'?_ I am only concerned about your health."

"Why?"

"I'm not sure someone of your age is fit to carry another child," he blurts, but he regrets it immediately. Especially when he sees the discontent contort her face into a scowl. "What is that supposed to mean?"

"I think it not a secret that you are well past your youth, Mother," Louis says as softly as he can. "What if I were to lose you during childbirth?"

"I have done it five times before," she huffs, turning from the mirror. Her hair is down, which is rare, and it's gotten longer but is also greying. Louis doesn't want to think about losing his parents, especially not his mother, but he also has to realize that the reason he's becoming king is so that he can take their place.

Because they  _are_ going to die someday.

"I will have a sibling more than twenty years younger than me," Louis blinks, shaking his head. It's not right. It's not right. "Does Father know?"

"Of course not," she gasps, placing her hand over her chest now, "Do you take me for a fool? "

This confuses Louis. "Why not? Father has always been the first to know." She looks increasingly on edge, now, breathing short and eyes flickering. It dawns on him very quickly. "Is the child... his?"

She bites her trembling lip. "I-"

"Mother." Defeated, she slumps down, forgets about her perfect posture and bravado.

"No, it is not."

White hot fear rushes through Louis's veins. "How do you know?"

Tears are dripping down his mother's face now, which makes his heart beating a little painful, but he's also panicking himself. He knows exactly how his father will react. He knows exactly what will happen. She sniffs, "We have not been intimate in ages. And I have been seeing another."

Louis drops to the ground, burying his face in his hands. "Oh, Mother. How long?"

"Months."

"What were you thinking?" he all but shouts, trying to keep his frustration under wraps. Johannah, however, fails to do so herself. She stands abruptly, stool screeching across the wood of the floor in her haste, and inhales sharply, "I do not see why you scold me. Your father has wooed more women than I can count on a single hand."

"But he has never had more than a brief affair-"

"Stop making excuses for that bastard!" she shouts, "When he comes back smelling of sweat and another woman, what am I to expect? When he's tipsy and grabs at a maiden as though she's- she's an object, what am I to do? Am I to sit back and watch? To let him use me as he pleases? To bear his children and fall to my knees before him? Because- because I am the  _woman?"_

Louis swallows. "I never said any of that."

"I am tired of it," she hiccups, "I am tired of sitting back." She turns again, facing herself in the mirror, and smoothes her skirt down as she sniffs.

A few moments of awkward silence tortures the space between them until Louis speaks again. "What is his name?"

She pauses. "Daniel."

"Daniel of Birmingham?" Louis knows Daniel. He is a royal squire, and a very popular one at that. He's seen him countess times before, but up until now has never given him much thought. There's nothing in particular that stands out about Daniel, at least not to Louis, and he never steps out of line or causes any trouble. He is, however, not under scrutiny from Troy, which Louis supposes provides a sort of security net for any sort of affair he's been having with Louis's mother. He wonders briefly if knowing his mother has not been loyal to his father should bother him (it doesn't), but ultimately decides that her happiness is more important to him. He can see the pain in her eyes when she's swatted at and can hear the hoarseness in her voice after what he assumes to have been a long night with his angry, impulsive father, and he wants nothing more than to see her smile reach her eyes again.

"The very same," she whispers, and Louis finally gets a hold of himself and stands. He takes the few steps over to stand behind her, wrapping his arms around her torso, and presses his nose to the back of her neck. She seems caught off guard at first, but her hands come to hesitantly rest on top of his own. Physical affection isn't a frequent in their family. "Louis."

"Just let me hug you, please." And she does for a few precious moments, but it's not enough. She starts to squirm and Louis takes the hint, stepping back and fixing his fringe as nonchalantly as he can.

"You must shave soon, your stubble is rough," she comments absentmindedly, eyes falling to stare at the floor. "I cannot imagine Eleanor wants that scruffing up her face. Her skin seems very supple-"

"Mother, now is not the time to discuss Eleanor," he silences, and she listens almost habitually. It frustrates and relieves Louis at the same time. He sighs, straightening his back, and decides that now is an excellent time to slip out. He wants to see Harry. He has to tell Harry.

"I had better go."

"Wait," she gasps, "You can not tell your father."

"Why would I do that?" Louis asks, furrowing his brow. It's almost as if she does not know him at all.

"It would- he would- just, promise me you will keep it between the three of us," she pleads.

"Of course, Mother." He gives her a smile and a kiss to the cheek before he turns, folding his hands behind his back, and exits the room. He tries to keep his expression casual and nonchalant as he strolls through the corridors despite the panic he feels on the inside; his mother having an affair? If word were to get out, the entire thing would be blown out of proportion. Louis can already imagine the amount of gossip that would spur - the townsfolk would have a field day. The Queen  _herself_ bearing the children of another man, how  _scandalous._

He finds Harry in the gardens, of course, sitting on a large boulder and fiddling with some flowers. He's so fully immersed in what he's doing that he doesn't notice when Louis sits down next to him, apparently, because he flinches at the hand that Louis gently rests on his upper thigh. The flowers fall to his lap and his eyes flick over, posture loosening after he sees who it is, and a smile small creeps across his face.

"Hi," Harry drawls, covering Louis' hand with his own. Harry is wearing a shirt that shows off his arms - something only the stable boys are forced to wear, most of the time - and his trousers are muddy, feet bare; it's obvious he's been out for a while. His hair is tied up nicely with a leather band, one that Louis lent him, which makes Louis notice how much his cheeks are caving in these days. He frowns.

"Haven't you been eating?" Louis asks instead, reaching forward and pushing a stray wave of hair from Harry's face, tucking it behind his ear. Harry keens under his touch, pressing his cheek into the palm of Louis' hand like a cat. 

Harry nods slowly, "Of course."

"You don't look it."

"Well, your portions are larger than mine," Harry says feebly, lowering Louis' hand with his own and kissing the center of it lightly. His eyes never leave Louis'. Something about the gesture is incredibly intimate, so much that Louis stops what he's doing to glance around and make sure they're actually alone. Harry takes his hesitance as a sign to continue, so he goes from the palm of Louis' hands to each fingertip. His lips against Louis' skin are so light that it feels like a whisper, like a dream.

Louis almost forgets what he should be doing. "Um, I'll have to see to that, then."

"That is not necessary, Lou," Harry huffs, stopping once he reaches Louis' thumb. Louis curls his hand around the sharpness of Harry's jaw, pressing against Harry's closed lips with his thumb gently. Sometimes they get lost in just touching each other like this - it's not something they get to do often. Cherishing each other is something Louis wishes they could spend the rest of their lives doing, but it's hard when he's always being watched. He's actually surprised someone hasn't wandered over here by yet. 

"I want you to be healthy."

"I am," insists Harry, words creating warm puffs of air against the skin of Louis' hand; he looks deadly serious, so Louis decides to let it drop for now. He doesn't want to spend what little time they may have together today bickering about something so small and unimportant. He just has to say the word, after all, and Harry will be presented with a feast fit for the king himself.

It's with a heavy heart that Louis withdrawals his hands, setting them on his own lap instead. Harry's gaze follows them until Louis clears his throat- his eyes are immediately met with a flash of green instead of the paleness of Harry's eyelids. "Hi," Louis says, smiling slightly. Harry shudders as a cool breeze passes through, flashing his dimples, and crosses his arms across his chest. "Hello, Louis."

"I have something to share with you," Louis informs him quietly, checking the area for any wanderers once more. "But you can not tell a single soul what I say or that I told you to begin with." He doesn't expect Harry to run his mouth, because he's loved and known him for so long, but he still lives for the way Harry sticks out his smallest finger without a single word. Louis links his own pinky through Harry's, squeezing lightly, and lets it drop after a few moments of silence. "Okay," he begins, "It's about my Mother."

Harry nods, urging him to continue.

"She's with child," he says, and Harry's face immediately lights up.

"Louis, that's incredible!" Harry crows, surging forward and wrapping his arms around Louis' shoulders. He almost tackles them both to the ground with the sudden force of his hug, but Louis doesn't really mind. Harry squirms onto his lap, nose pressed into the skin of Louis' collarbones, because once they start touching it's hard to stop. He speaks into Louis' throat, "I'm happy for your family. Your father must be ecstatic. How far along is she? Will she be giving birth before or after your coronation? Will there be a ball? Ca-"

"Harold," Louis cuts him off, tone light, "If you would let me finish." Harry silences himself, turning his head to rest on Louis' shoulder instead of smushing his face into Louis' chest. Louis prefers this position, actually, because he can look Harry in the eye now. Harry's properly straddling Louis now, his long legs wrapped around Louis' torso, and the boulder is digging into Louis' legs especially hard now with Harry's weight pressing down atop of his own. His arms are wrapped around Harry's slim waist, hands pressed to Harry's lower back, and if anyone were to see them and their compromising position right now, he'd likely be beheaded.

It's a risk he's willing to take.

Harry's pout brings him out of his wistful thinking - so does another breeze that passes through, technically, especially when Harry shivers again. 

"My father is not ecstatic because he does not know," Louis continues, stroking the small sliver of exposed skin on Harry's back with his fingertips idly - he doesn't really think about it, it just happens - and Harry's face crinkles with confusion. "The child is not, erm, the fruit of his loins."

Despite the huge bomb Louis has just dropped, Harry rolls his eyes fondly. " _Fruit of his loins_?"

Louis huffs, embarrassed, and Harry giggles at the pinkness that creeps across his cheeks. Harry's eyes sparkle when he laughs. Louis thinks he'd quite like this to become a regular occurrence.

The meaning behind Louis' words finally sink in after a few moments of quiet laughter, because Harry's smile diminishes and turns into a wide eyed look of shock. 

"Oh, Louis. What are you going to do?"

"I have no idea," Louis admits. It wouldn't be such a big deal if she wasn't pregnant. He thinks he could handle his mother having a secret lover, because he finds himself in the same situation, but pregnant? He's still at loss for words regarding the situation. It's something he can ignore for now, but not for long. They can't hide it forever. "My father musn't find out, though."

"Is she certain that..."

"Yes," Louis gulps, "I am not surprised, if I'm being honest. There has been a great deal of hostility between the two of them for a while, especially since my father, um. Had his way with his former mistress."

It happened a few years ago; Louis' father is no stranger to adultery, truly, but another woman carrying one of his children had never happened before. They managed to keep it from the townsfolk, luckily, because _God forbid they know of any flaw in the royal family._  So, Louis has a half sister named Georgia, he thinks, that he has never met before. His mother would never allow him to do so, he knows, but it doesn't matter because the baby had been moved elsewhere only two weeks after her birth- Louis is pretty sure her mother went with her. He can't blame her. His mother's wrath is not something to be underestimated, especially to someone who isn't a member of the royal court. 

"Do you think she loves him?" Harry asks quietly; he's looking and sounding especially small tonight.

"My father?" Harry nods. "Of course she does. She always will, I think. That's the unfortunate part." Louis shakes his head, closing his eyes. "She deserves so much more."

It's no secret that Louis and his father do not get along, especially not to Harry, and since Louis' gotten older he's been seeing more and more of the darkness behind his father's actions and words. He watches quietly most times, but everytime he snaps at a sister or grips Louis' mother's wrist a little too tightly, Louis gets pushed closer to the edge. 

One day, he thinks, one day. One day he'll be in charge and he won't have to watch quietly anymore. 

"Does she love the other man as well?" Harry asks, playing lightly with the edge of Louis' tunic. 

Louis sighs, "Yes. I believe so. In more ways than one."

Harry is quiet for a few moments, pursing his lips in the most endearing way Louis has ever seen. He shakes his head, hair tickling Louis' jaw. "It is so unfair."

"I know," Louis agrees, squeezing at Harry's hips lightly. Harry takes the hint and sits up fully so that they're facing each other,  noses less than a few inches away from touching. Louis keeps his eyes trained on Harry's. "But it is the way it is." 

Harry's gaze falls to his lap. Sensing his doubt, Louis surges forward and closes the distance between them gently and presses his lips to Harry's for the millionth time in his life. They fit together like puzzle pieces, the fullness of Harry's lips against Louis' own thin, chapped ones, especially when Harry's part the slightest bit and, like it's second nature, Louis' teeth pull on his lower lip lightly. Harry's hands fly out clumsily, gripping Louis' shoulders, and a light whimper cause him to pull away. He knows he didn't hurt Harry, of course, not physically. It can never go further than a kiss, is the thing. It can never get past than a kiss or their lips, which are slick and swollen now as evidence as the  _thousands_ of rules they're breaking, and, despite this, it can  _never_ go even a step further. It's not fair for Louis to tease. 

As Louis runs a hand down his face, Harry sucks the very same lower lip into his mouth, teeth biting down on it lightly as he stares at Louis. Louis' hand drops down on Harry's thigh lazily. "You like my stubble, don't you?"

Harry laughs. "Of course."

"My mother says I should get rid of it," Louis muses, smiling softly at the sound of Harry's happiness. Harry leans forward again, pressing his lips to the lobe of Louis' right ear. 

"If you do that, I might just have to leave you," Harry teases, "It is a deal breaker."

He knows Harry isn't serious, but Harry leaving him is a possibility that he never wants to consider for the entirety of his life. The sun is hiding behind a cloud, so a brief minute of darkness sweeps over the land, but the spark in Harry's eyes never fades. Louis can't lose him. He can't lose this. 

For some reason, thinking of the extreme amounts of fondness he feels for Harry only leads his mind to how scared he is of losing everything he has right here on his lap, right next to his heart. He isn’t going to let anyone take that away. Not his father, not his mother, not Eleanor-

“Oh, God!” Louis exclaims, “Eleanor! I’ve forgotten Eleanor!” He was supposed to meet her and take a walk, show her around- shit. Harry looks at him with bewilderment clear in his eyes as Louis pushes him from his lap lightly, straightening out his clothes and kissing Harry on the nose. "I am sorry, Harry, but I have to go."

"What?" Harry asks, face utterly unreadable.

"I have to go meet Eleanor. Immediately. I'm very late, oh God. I hope no one saw us."

Harry's face contorts. "Why do you-"

"I love you," Louis assures him, giving Harry one last lingering glance as he turns and, to the best of his ability, bolts back up the path that leads to the castle. He's going to be in mass loads of trouble if he doesn't find Eleanor and explain his absence. 

It takes a few minutes, but he does find her. She's standing in the kitchen, watching people cook from a distance, and she doesn't look the least bit distressed. Her eyes follow the movements of the workers carefully. Louis stops in the doorway, chest heaving, and takes a moment to study her as he catches his breath. Her hair is down in long waves, resting at the small of her back, and she's dressed down in a loose, soft looking gown. At the sound of Louis' panting she turns, face twitching up into a small smile. "Bonjour."

Louis doesn't even have the heart to correct her. "Hello."

Her smile widens, and she extends a hand from behind her back slowly. "I, erm, I made you something." She uncurls her fingers to show Louis the item, which is tucked inside her palm. It makes his eyes widen. The object is a necklace, which is a lovely thought, and it's made up of several silver and blue beads. He smiles a bit, eyes lingering on a specific bead that looks more green than blue, but the grin fades a bit once he reaches the center.

A big silver crucifix lays at the heart of it all, and it's obvious that it's the statement of the entire piece. He swallows his discomfort and takes it from her carefully, pulling it over his head and letting the coolness of it rest on his chest. She looks delighted, tugging the cross in place with her own fingers, and clasps her hands together gently at the sight. Her hands come to rest in front of her lips. 

"It's beautiful," Louis says. The cross against his skin almost burns. He feels so abhorrently guilty. It's then that he notices she has the same necklace on, practically, but her beads are golden and brown. "The colors..."

"Like our eyes," she finishes, "I thought it rather appropriate, yes?" Louis' smile feels more like a grimace. Her own expression falters a bit, "Do you like it?"

"Yes. Yes! I love it," Louis rushes, reaching out to pull Eleanor into a hug without thinking. She seems a bit started at first, arms straight out at her sides, but then she relaxes and wraps her own arms around his neck, face against his chest. He swallows his disgust with himself when his arms circle around her waist completely with his hands on opposite sides of her back - she's smaller and more delicate than Harry, but just as warm and gentle. He finds himself comparing Eleanor to Harry every time he sees her. 

"I am glad," she mumbles into his skin, hair brushing against his exposed collarbones, "I worked all night on it."

"You did not have to do that," Louis mutters, and he means it. He doesn't want her to spend every waking moment trying to impress him regardless of the legitimacy of his feelings toward her. She doesn't deserve to have to go through all of that for nothing. 

"I sincerely wanted to, my Prince," Eleanor says, drawing back from their embrace; she smiles up at him warmly, waiting.

Louis has always been great at pretending. He used to pretend he didn't know who stole the last sweet from the plate when he was small and full of energy. He used to pretend not to care about his studies, even though math was probably the most fascinating thing he'd ever encountered. He used to pretend that he didn't like the way Harry smelled when he just got back from a day out on the town, sweaty and full of new perfumes, even though he glowed brighter than any star. He pretends every day not to be in love with the very same Harry. So, pretending that he doesn't realize Eleanor wants him to kiss her is easy. He smiles back just as enthusiastically and withdrawals his arms from around her torso. 

Baby steps, he thinks, are the key. He can't kiss her. He just can't.

He makes up a horrible excuses about his lack of punctuality - he blames it on Lottie, or something - and she forgives him without so much as a bat of her eyelashes. They go through a brief tour of the castle, skipping the floors where the Harry and his family reside, and head out to the stables afterward. Eleanor's hand in his own feels very wrong for lots of reasons, so during their walk he pretends that she's several inches taller and has shorter hair and a deeper voice. It makes it a little bit easier.

The stables are quiet and smell of hay, as always, and the horses seem to be less and less amused with every passing moment. Eleanor insists on touching them, and Louis lets her mostly because he doesn't want to be rude. She's very gentle with them and the boys tending the stalls watch her like a hawk - for more than precautionary reasons, probably (she's young and beautiful and Louis can't blame them) - but she steps in manure and immediately loses interest in their visit. 

Which is how they end up in the meadow.

Louis has never taken a soul to this meadow - with the exception being Harry, of course - and no one else seems to know of its existence. It's behind the castle past a few metres of trees, but no one wanders quite that far. All hunting occurs on the opposite end of the grounds where the creek lays, but Louis much prefers this area. It's peaceful and quiet and the flowers grow slowly, like they have all the time in the world. The occasional rabbit hops through but other than that, it's isolated.

Louis thinks it's perfect.

Usually Harry comes with him and they lay in patches of grass and wildflowers, looking up at clouds until their eyes sting or feeding each other berries (which usually ends in stolen kisses), but Louis doesn't plan on doing any of that with Eleanor. She sits down, folding her legs under her so that she's not exposed, and Louis settles next to her. They sit in silence, breathing in the cool early spring air, and watch butterflies dance through the treeline. 

"This is most beautiful," Eleanor says softly, like she's afraid of ruining the moment.

Louis, who has been thinking fleetingly of his mother and Harry for the past ten minutes, startles. He hums in agreement, trying his hardest not to tense up when her hand comes to rest on his thigh. "Isn't it? I come here to think."

"What do you think about?"

"You," he answers honestly, but probably not in the way that Eleanor assumes. It is true that he spends a lot of time thinking about her, but only in the sense that she's here to marry him and possibly ruin everything he's built up with Harry. It's not her fault, of course, but it's the way it is. "And my family. My coronation. The people," he adds, rolling his shoulders, "I think of the others who live in less than ideal conditions. I think about the trading. A lot of times I think about H-... my friends."

"Do you ever think about when you were small?" she asks gently, and Louis notices that she's staring wistfully at a patch of purple flowers a small distance away. "About the people you used to know?"

"Not really. My entire life has been the same, for the most part. Same people, same duties, same future. I have spent so long preparing for this. It is the peak of my time, it seems," he muses, dropping his gaze. 

"I feel as if I have been being prepared to be perfect," says Eleanor, "As if my only purpose is to be a wife."

"That is not true. You are so much more than that. You will make a fine ruler, I'm sure."

"But it is not I who will be doing the ruling, is it?" she asks with a bit of a smirk, one that's sad and the most forced emotion she's ever displayed.

"I promise, we will be a team." He almost sticks his pinky out, but he stops himself dead in his tracks. What is he doing? He doesn't want to be a team with Eleanor. They feel more like colleagues than a couple.

"I appreciate the gesture, but more than anything I look forward to our children." She doesn't seem to mean it in a sexual sense, but Louis is already uncomfortable. "I can imagine them already, running around the grounds and kicking a ball across the grass. It is so rainy here. Maybe they could play games of chess. I imagine they'd have your eyes and my nose, maybe, and hopefully they have your smile."

"I hope they don't get my hair. It's a proper mess," Louis snorts.

"I quite like it."

 Louis doesn't say it, but he really wants children as well. The difference is that he wants tall, curly headed children with big green eyes and dimpled smiles hanging from his legs and being absolute menaces, creating chaos with their father's wit and charm. He wants children that stay up all night listening to his stories and playing with dolls that look like fairies. He wants children that laugh too loudly and eat with their mouths open because they never stop talking - he wants children that embody he and Harry in the best way possible with the crinkles by their eyes and the pout of their lips to prove it. 

He wants children that can never exist. 

He wants a life that he can never have.

He doesn't realize that he's tearing up a bit until Eleanor comments on the position of the sun, which is beginning to set, and he snaps from his thinking with a sudden amount of haste. He should get them back in time for supper or he'll never hear the end of it.

As they walk back Eleanor tells him a story about her dog she used to have. She says that the dog once got loose and created a mess in the kitchens, knocking bowls of soups and all sorts of breads to the ground. Laughing, she rests her hand on Louis' shoulder and insists that they get a pet eventually, because life is too boring without one.

Louis just feels numb.


End file.
